lover / destroyer.

This is an old piece I’d written during my time at the U. of Iowa, under the impromptu assignment of threading together frenetic details concerning nothing in particular. I’d written it under a weak, yellow light before bed and still remember how easily it had come about. It was well-received and sparked a friendship with my instructor. I like to think of this piece under fond terms because it reminds me of frost-covered trees, the crisp smell of Fall, of long walks appeased by the promise of hot coffee and solitary time spent in crowded coffeehouses filled by students and professors alike, of burgeoning interests and of the simple joy that comes out of the act of writing.

But without further ado:-

lover / destroyer:

After several tragedies and triumphs, I am withering and prospering again. Humans navigate, calculate, deviate, complicate. Some choose to room in attics of the mind temporarily, while others are permanent tenants. There are fewer things lonelier than the pains and sorrows of living in the 21st century. Retweet, unfollow, reblog, where’s Waldo? Invisible mediums dictate and doctor the captive audience, often with little retaliation. Many quarrel and steer from the unknown, wrestle with self-made concepts yet missing the painfully obvious. I have learned that to be realistic does not always mean having to be pessimistic and age becomes two mere digits the more you grow. With 100% certainty, the real beauties in life are silent, stunning, captivating, dizzying, rare, almost a myth, almost a whisper of a whisker, for sentimental specters to observe and consequently lose, the hallucinogenic muse, nothing the media will ever be able to fully speculate or validate. Love is falling into a body composed of music, exists as the epidemic that has the world spinning as it erodes the soul as much as it nurtures it. Feel it bloom delicately and sweetly in the bones. Not many know that heartbreak, the execution of the prodigal youth’s innocence, is the rite-of-passage to have saved us all. Although sorrow in its purest form is a chaste vision, if you burrow long enough, it gives. It gives in its abundance of generosity and symmetry. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. It glows, slows, flows.